Everything Everywhere All at Once

The Cosmogony of the Everything Bagel

In the modern cinematic landscape, the multiverse has largely become a mechanic for corporate consolidation—a convenient narrative device to parade intellectual property and trigger nostalgic dopamine hits. It is a rare and startling event when a film utilizes the infinite not to expand a franchise, but to constrict the focus down to the microscopic fissures of a single broken family. *Everything Everywhere All at Once*, the sophomore feature from the directing duo known as Daniels (Daniel Kwan and Daniel Scheinert), is a maximalist assault on the senses that ultimately reveals itself to be a minimalist plea for kindness. It is a film that asks: in a universe where nothing matters, why should we bother doing laundry?



The film’s visual language is a weaponized form of ADHD, reflecting the fractured psyche of its protagonist, Evelyn Wang (Michelle Yeoh). As a Chinese-American immigrant drowning in tax audits and a crumbling marriage, Evelyn is not an action hero but a woman exhausted by the road not taken. The Daniels visualize her regret through the mechanism of "verse-jumping," where accessing the skills of parallel selves requires performing statistically improbable, often absurd acts. The result is a aesthetic that careens from the gritty florescence of an IRS office to the Wong Kar-wai-drenched moodiness of a movie star timeline, to a universe where fingers have evolved into hot dogs. Yet, this chaos is not random; it is the visual manifestation of the sensory overload that defines the modern immigrant experience—the pressure to be everything, everywhere, for everyone, all at once.

At the heart of this kaleidoscopic storm lies a profound philosophical battle between two symbols: the Googly Eye and the Everything Bagel. The Bagel, created by the film's antagonist Jobu Tupaki (an electrifying Stephanie Hsu), is a black hole of nihilism. If you put everything on a bagel—every hope, dream, dog breed, and Craigslist ad—it eventually collapses under its own weight into a void where "nothing matters." This is the central crisis of the film, one that resonates deeply with a generation overwhelmed by the internet’s infinite noise. Against this stands Evelyn’s husband, Waymond (Ke Huy Quan), whose strategic deployment of googly eyes on laundry bags and office supplies is initially dismissed as foolishness. By the film's climax, however, we understand that this silliness is a form of spiritual warfare. Waymond’s philosophy is not naive; it is a conscious choice to inject meaning into a meaningless void.



Perhaps the film's most audacious stroke is its quietest moment. Amidst the kung fu battles and exploding confetti, the narrative halts for a conversation between two rocks overlooking a silent canyon. There is no sound, only text on screen. In a blockbuster era defined by noise, this scene is a radical act of deceleration. It strips away the human form, the biological imperative, and the cultural baggage, leaving only two consciousnesses acknowledging the absurdity of existence. It is here that the mother and daughter finally connect, not as warriors, but as geological accidents. The scene proves that the Daniels are not just merchants of chaos; they are masters of tone, understanding that the loudest emotions often require the quietest delivery.



Michelle Yeoh delivers a performance of geological density, layering the physical prowess of her Hong Kong action days with a weary, heartbreaking vulnerability. She anchors the film’s absurdity in genuine human regret. When she finally embraces the "Googly Eye" philosophy—fighting her enemies not with punches, but by giving them the one thing they desire—the film transcends its genre trappings. It argues that in an infinite multiverse of terror and confusion, the only rational response is kindness. *Everything Everywhere All at Once* is not just a triumph of editing and imagination; it is a humanistic manifesto disguised as a sci-fi comedy, reminding us that while we may be small and stupid, we are not alone.